


Bonfires

by Dep



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And Failing, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Canon What Canon, F/M, Forced Marriage, I'm horrible at tags!, Igraine lives, Morgana is the Goddess she deserves to be, Morgana is the daughter of druids, Smut, Sort Of, Sort of..., Unplanned Pregnancy, Uther is a madman who loves his wife too much, all the wrong choices, it's basically Arthur trying to make good choices, like seriously angst, miserably!, poor boy needs it, still kicking ass and all, until she doesn't..., we should all give Arthur a huge hug, yeap Gorlois and Vivienne are druids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dep/pseuds/Dep
Summary: I lost my wayall the way to youand in you I foundall the way backto me- Atticus
Relationships: Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Bonfires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls/gifts).



> Here's finally my belated present to my dear sweet @Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls, whose birthday was two days ago! 
> 
> Jo, I can't strain enough what a great friend you are! This past year wouldn't be the same if it wasn't for you! You're the best I could ask for a friend! One of the best people in my life! You're so inspirational, funny, supportive, kind, helpful, thoughtful, clever, brave, amazing! One of the people I look up to! I wish for us to be friends for a long time to come! And I wish for you to make each and every one of your dreams come true! I hope you'll look back in a couple of years and say ''I fucking made it!'' I wish for you to become the person you want to be and, most importantly, I wish you health, love and eternal happiness and inner peace! 
> 
> I love you, my dear e-bestie! Enjoy my little present <3

_**~nostlagia~** _

_It's delicate, but potent._

_In Greek, ''nostalgia'' literally means_

_''the pain from an old wound''._

_It's a twinge in your heart far more powerful than a memory_ _alone_

_\- a feeling of a place where we ache to go again_

The first time Arthur saw a bonfire, he was a boy of six summers, following right after his father's boots on reluctant steps. His mother's hand was cool against the back of his neck, as the three of them stood in front of people who wore clothes of funny colors.

He had seen many colors before in his life, all lively and rich, and he had felt them against his skin, the benefits of a prince. Yet, something about those clothes that these people were wearing, there was something about them. Their clothes weren't colorful, didn't attract his attention, they looked like robes of blue, green and brown. His father's clothes were red and dark, while his mother's a vibrant blue. His own were something in between.

Always the son of his mother. Always the son of the king.

The woman who stood before him was wearing a simple blue gown, the color was almost faint. Her hands, though, were full of ink. Black shapes were covering her pale tones and for a moment, he thought if they could move and escape and fly away from her skin, up to the dark blue of the sky that matched her gown.

When the woman with the dark hair and blue pale eyes spoke his name with a smile on her lips, he returned it as if he always knew her.

''He's grown up fast.'', the man beside her voiced, a smile similar to the woman's on his lips. ''He'll make a fine strong man.''

His mother smiled and kissed the top of his crown, her hand still cool against his neck. His father's chest shook with agreement and offered him a tiny smile of his own, one that he could easily miss in the fast approaching darkness of the night.

He didn't. Arthur, a boy of six, had learned to appreciate the smallest of displays of his father's affection.

''A fitting king.'', the woman voiced her own agreement. ''May luck and the fates be always by his side.''

The queen smiled at her friend's wishes. ''And find him a fitting queen.''

Arthur didn't pay attention to the conversation between the two women. He didn't know of fate, he couldn't understand luck. The prince was too young to even understand how magic worked. Yet, he had noticed the way his father would mock it behind closed doors at their castle, the way his mother would sigh tiredly and remind him of their friends and the peace of their people.

_''You can't expect such a fragile thing as peace to withstand such an uncontrollable, dangerous thing as magic.''_

So Arthur had learned to fear what he couldn't understood. And mock it behind closed doors with his father.

Magic was dangerous. Uncontrollable.

The night was upon them now, its thick dark cloak all over the summer sky.

''Congratulations on the young future High Priestess.'', his father's voice was once again heard above him. ''May her soul be full of her ancestors' wisdom.''

The dark-haired woman smiled and thanked him for him wishes.

Arthur wondered how could the king smile such a genuine smile when his heart was filled with disgust of those practices.

Maybe one day he could learn. He hoped so, he admired the way his father could so perfectly hide his feelings. He would need it too.

Yet, when his eyes spotted a little girl, his body stood still. The brightness of her smile, her vibrant green eyes, they all made his mind stop. For a moment, he feared,  _was this magic? Was this what his father was talking about?_

_No_ , he knew. _It couldn't be_.

The girl's clothes were nothing like theirs. They were ethereal, white, as like nothing he had ever seen before. Neither a dove nor a swam, just human girl. His mother always told him fairy-tales of elves and nymphs and all the magical beings that could sing beautiful lullabies and he thought that he could picture her as one of them.

_His mind and body were too young, yet his soul knew._

The girl waved at him, he was sure the red ink on her skin was moving, flying around her.

The prince could only wave back.

_The bonfires around them burned brighter._

* * *

* * *

So the girl was really a human, Arthur came to know in the time that followed. And a really annoying one, if one would ask him.

Her name was Morgana and he couldn't understand why the sound of it caused his heart to skip a few beats so often.

_Magic_ , he would think each time he thought about it. She was the future High Priestess, after all. Whatever that could mean, but Father would scoff at times when Mother would speak of the matter with pride and utter under his breath – _savages, unreliable, dangerous beings._

But that only confused him all the more. For the next two years, they were inseparable. He couldn't understand how Morgana could be all those things – the little girl who always liked to challenge him with every chance she got, her emerald eyes always burned with burning fire.

_Bonfires_ , he always liked them, since that night he had first witnessed one. The night when he met her.

He didn't know if Morgana was any of those things that his father would speak of, but he certainly understood the meaning of his words when he was eight summers old.

_The summer when bonfires lost their beauty._

* * *

* * *

The news of the prince's sudden illness reached the far end of Uther's kingdom and soon, whispers of the heir's possible death started growing all the more.

When Igraine begged him to seek out their friends' help -her friends' help, Uther had no other choice but to do so.

When Vivienne entered the heir's chambers, with Morgana following close behind, the scent of death caused her to bite the inside of her cheek.

''I'd like for you to leave, my King.'', she had asked, to which he scoffed.

'' You will allow your clueless child to stay here, but not your King?'', Uther dared her, his eyes shining dangerously. ''Do you think you can make me leave my son's side?''

Vivienne's stoic face angered him more than her next words did. ''I can't, my King. But _she_ can.''

Igraine, who was standing silently by her son's bedside all along, begged Uther with blue pleading tired eyes. She hadn't left their son's side since he had fell ill and that was almost a month's time ago. ''Please, my love. Let her heal our son.''

The King glared at her for a few seconds, but soon followed her plead and moved towards the door. But not before stopping by the tall woman's side. ''You better heal my son, witch.''

Vivienne only smiled. ''I will, my King.''

She knew of the king's distrust towards her people, of his fear for what he couldn't understand. It was thanks to the Queen that their people could live happily, in peace. Things were about to change, though, and her bones told her of unspeakable, terrible things.

She squished her daughter's hand and cast her eyes on the Queen.

''There's something I need to tell you, Igraine.''

Igraine has always been a wise woman, reading beyond words and actions. She could feel what each silence meant and what it could bring. The only thing she could understand from the silence the two women shared was something that would change matters for good. She only hoped that it would be for the better.

So, the two women stood in front of each other as friends, sisters and – most importantly, mothers.

They didn't cry, didn't utter a single word. Everything that needed to be said were in a few words.

_''What we're about to do will save your child's life.''_

_''And it'll cost me mine.''_

_''Things will change.''_

_''Let it be for the better.''_

His fever was strong, his temple full of drops of sweat, running down to his neck. His little body was shaking and his breaths were speaking of his mother and a girl's name. Each time he could open his eyes, he would always meet the Queen's sweet smile. Her palm was cold against his skin, comforting.

When Arthur opened his eyes once again for good, after fighting his fever for thirty long suns, he didn't see his mother's smile. Instead, he saw his father's teary eyes.

Seven suns after that day, a woman's lullaby was sounding all across the king's ward as she was burning in what looked as a bonfire.

Morgana was crying in his arms as he was singing the same lullaby in her ear.

When the woman stopped singing, Morgana was gone, along with her father.

Arthur never saw her again.

He saw no beauty in bonfires after that day.

* * *

* * *

So the years passed and before long, Arthur was sixteen summers long. With each year, his resemblance to his mother was showing more and more, his dead loving mother. And with each year, his father's love was fading away all the more.

In his place, there was hatred.

Hatred, for the people who took his wife, his Queen. There was no more peace between his people and those monsters – as his father called them, and even though he wanted to believe him, that they were the ones who killed his mother, something in his heart was telling him otherwise.

Yet, he couldn't believe his heart, not when his mind was reminding him of who he was. The King's son, the heir to the throne, the prince of Camelot. Motherless, and -in a way- fatherless too.

In a desperate act to gain his father's love and attention back, he spoke out of order and volunteered to lead a party of men to the druids' camp and kill every last one of them.

He had sensed the sudden swift in the air, the King's calculating eyes had stood upon him for long, long enough for his heart to start beating faster than it should.

That day, Arthur, a child of sixteen, a boy trying too hard to be a man, didn't think of the blood that would be spilt, but of his father's love instead.

When he raided into the camp, blood, fire, roars of pain and hatred and screams of mercy, he fought with malice and desperation. The prince of Camelot was not a coward, he was fitting of his title, he deserved a father's love.

He fought like a demon, an animal, screaming and crying, blood and sweat covering every bit of his skin where his armour couldn't reach.

But when he caught a glimpse of raven hair, the time stopped. No more screaming, no more fighting. He was standing in the middle of chaos, feasting on a pair of green eyes.

The same green eyes that he was seeing every night in his sleep for the last eight years.

It was when those eyes turned gold and a scream left her full lips, that he was once again able to move his body.

The man behind him had an axe in his hands and his mouth was pulled back into a scream. But then he stopped running towards him and his blue robes turned red as his lifeless body fell onto the ground.

When he turned back to look at the girl once again, she was gone.

Later that night, his father had thrown a feast, welcoming him home with wide arms. His son had come back alive, victorious and with plenty of chained druids following behind.

That day, Arthur had earned the King's trust and admiration. Not love and affection, though.

The prince lied to himself that everything was finally going alright, he was finally on the path towards gaining his father back.

But, at nights, he would still scrub his skin hard enough to bleed, in a desperate attempt to wash away the blood that was there no more. At nights, he would no longer dream of emerald eyes and raven hair.

He couldn't understand why that was hurting more than anything else ever did.

* * *

* * *

When Arthur became twenty summers old, he knew that that was the time for him to prove himself to his father once and for all. Soon, the crown would be passed down to him, the kingdom would be his to look after. His father's hatred had grown and grown more with the years, the screams of people burning had long become an everyday melody – for his father's ears.

To him, it was just another torture. His mask of indifference was put on his face from the master of the act, his own father.

When he was a boy, Arthur dreamed to grow and be just like his father. Now that he had become a second shadow of his, he wondered if his dreams were ever meant to be good.

_Of course they did. Once upon a time, when they were filled with emerald lakes and raven skies._

As he was sitting at the head of the large table, almost long enough to reach the end of the hall, he was casually drinking from his golden goblet and chatting with the other lords. Lords that they would one day lay their men's lives to his feet.

The thought was meant to swell his chest with pride and excitement, yet it only caused him to gaze down on his hands every so often.

They were stained with enough blood. Let it be no more.

His father's voice turned the room into silence in an instant. ''My lords and ladies. Thank you for joining me to celebrate my son's, your prince's, birthday.'', the King was smiling, a rare sight to witness. His confusion as of the source of his happiness would soon be answered. ''We all know that by turning twenty years of living, he must prove himself once and for all, to his King and his people, the people that he'll be privileged and bound to protect one day soon. The task that he shall fulfil was decided by the great council and your King.''

His father's eyes were dark and dangerous when they landed on him. An invisible lump soon formed in his neck, yet he knew that by swallowing it down, he would show his feelings.

_There was no room for feelings._

Yet, it took all his will and strength to not fall to his father's feet and beg him to take back his next words.

''His task is to participate in the hideous magical feast of fertility, the Beltane and assassinate the High Priestess, who will be an attendee there.''

And time stopped once again. His breath was caught in his throat. A thousand eyes were upon him, along with his father's, waiting for any sign of backing down.

_No more blood. God, please, no more blood._

But it was his destiny. A fate filled with blood.

When he raised his gaze and met his father's with even eyes, his heart was still. ''I'll do it.''

His father smiled a wolf-like smile.

His soul bled.

* * *

* * *

It was a month after when he stood at the edge of the forest, thirty men waiting behind his back and melodies awaiting for him ahead. The sound of drums and voices was getting louder by the second. The sky was beginning to turn red from the flames and smoke of the bonfires.

His tongue was dipped in dust, that's how he felt and when he turned to meet his men, his stance was tall and sure.

''I'll do it alone. You should leave.''

The first of his men frowned with worry. ''But, my Lord-''

''I said, I'll do it alone, Sir Lancelot.'', the title of his best friend left his lips with authority. The knight knew better than to question his future king, regardless of their closeness.

Lancelot bowed his head and offered his hand. ''Good luck, my future King.''

Arthur smiled, a rare sight only few were privileged to witness and gripped his friend's forearm. ''Thank you, future General of the King's army.''

He turned his back with a last nod to the rest of his men and enter the forest with sure steps. They became less and less of that as he got closer to the sound of the drums. The feast was not yet to start, the real thing at least. He had a few hours till he would mingle with the crowd, find the High Priestess and kill her in cold blood.

He followed the river to get to the centre of the forest and when it became too much to breath, he fell on his knees and cried.

His hands were stained with so much blood. The blood of the innocents, of children, men, women. And now, another life would be lost, all because of his father's hatred. All because of his cowardice to rise up against him and save those people from their cruel fate.

The death of the last living High Priestess would only mean one thing: the end of an era of hate and suffering. What was twelve years felt like an eternity. And with her last breath, hopefully, the King will be satisfied and no more blood will be shed.

He washed his face in the river, then his hands, then his body. He tried to scrub away the blood one last time, a ritual he performed each time he was in the safety of his chambers, in his tub, alone with his thoughts and regrets.

When he was done, he dressed in animal furs and skins, his clothes for the night. He looked like an animal and if one would see his eyes, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between him and one.

As he leaned to pick up his mask, a wolf's mask – the irony wasn't lost to him, for he was indeed the wolf among the lambs, a deep old voice stopped his movement.

''So much anguish laying in the soul of such a young man. The fates have a fun way to play with their favoured ones.''

His sword was in his hand in an instant and his wild eyes were searching for the intruder, the man who surely had been silently sitting there the whole time. He cursed himself for lowering his guard and prepared himself to strike if he had to. But, when his eyes fell on the old man, he found himself freezing.

''Who are you?''

The man kept playing with his long white beard with a smile on his face, his red robes were almost glowing under the moonlight of the full moon. ''The answer of that won't be of much use for you.''

Arthur scoffed and lowered his sword, yet not his guard. The old man had a unique, unearthly aura around him that made her wary of his motives. ''Great, so you'll tell me that your identity is not my concern and the real question should be 'who am I?'.'', he sighed at the old man's amused expression and rolled his eyes.

''Oh I wouldn't. You seem pretty sure of who you are.''

Arthur raised an eyebrow. ''Right...'', he mumbled. The old man didn't speak, just smiled and stared back at him. The silence was tiring and it soon forced him to ask in an angry, desperate voice, ''So what the hell are you doing here?''

He shrugged. ''Watching young people washing their regrets away and preparing themselves for new ones.''

''How did you-'', the prince's eyes were wide with shock, yet the old man only laughed.

''Please, Prince Arthur, I'm older than this tree.'', he stated, patting the tall strong log behind him, as if it was an everyday thing to hear a man confessing that he was older than one of the oldest trees in the forest. ''Observing is what I do.''

The prince calculated his next words. The man was probably a spirit or something. Hence, dangerous. In an instant, he dropped his sword and lowered down to sit on his heels. Angering the spirit was the last thing he needed. Maybe, just maybe, he had answers.

What was his destiny? Will he ever sleep through a night without nightmares again? And, most importantly, what had happened to that girl of which its name he couldn't bring himself to voice.

The man smirked and rubbed his hands over his grass-stained robes. ''It gets tiring, trying to get answers from you young people. Just share your thoughts with a wise old man and I'll see what I can do for you.''

''You're a spirit.'', it wasn't an answer and both of them knew it.

''When I said that you're pretty sure of who you are, I didn't mean to make your ego larger than it already is. Keep your assumptions to yourself, young prince.'', he said in a serious voice but when Arthur stayed silent and obviously frightened that he had angered him, the old man burst into a fit of laughs. He ignored the prince's glare and wiped a tiny tear from his eye. ''You are hilarious. So, tell me, what is it that you want to know.''

He took a deep breath in and then he let it go. ''My destiny.''

The man sighed. ''You're all the same...'', he mumbled but then looked him straight in the eye. ''A tough one. The wind speaks of it itself.''

Arthur frowned. ''There's no wind.''

''Exactly. You're already punishing yourself for things you couldn't control. There are many things you want to fix. You're already making it too difficult yourself. The wind has no use here.''

Silence, and the beating of his heart. Loud enough for him to hear it as if it was coming from the bonfires and the deepest depths of the river.

_Blood. So much blood. And bonfires. And no wind at all._

''That's not all you want to know.'', he stated as if the prince's soul was bare for him to see. ''You want to know about the girl with the green eyes.''

That caught his attention. Yet, what he said next had him almost fainting.

''She's here.''

_And no bonfire was hot enough to warm him out of his cool sweat._

* * *

* * *

It was hot, the air was hot. It smelled of smoke and fire and wine and something he couldn't pinpoint, couldn't understand. His sweat was still cold but with his wolf mask put on, he was able to hide most of it. If someone asked, he would blame it on the hot air.

He had tried to mingle with the crowd, talk to these people – the beasts, as his father liked to call them. He would never confess that he felt more like a beast himself, not even for his own ears to hear, yet he could no longer ignore it. The men were laughing, drinking and joking, as he had done so many times with his men. They were welcoming, offering him wine and sharing stories.

_Little did they know that the man they were so welcoming with, would kill their only remaining hope for peace that night._

He tried to joke too and share a couple of stories himself – nothing that could make them suspicious of his origins though. And, while he was joking, his eyes were lingering on every person he could see, seeking tirelessly for that woman.

She was old, old enough to be his mother. She _had_ to be.

As the drums got louder and the music came to a halt all of the sudden, the men stood up. An old lady led them in front of a tent, a big beautiful tent. Everything around it was full of magic, he could feel it.

A steady rhythm had started to play.

_Dum. Dum. Dum._

His heart was matching that rhythm, his breaths were steady, his body tall and stoic.

Until his eyes fell on _her_.

A young woman was walking with steady slow steps towards the tent, her toned body was covered with a thin white cloth, as white as her pale skin was and her raven hair were swaying around her with every step. But there was something, just something about her that was setting his insides on fire, something he couldn't understand.

When his eyes met hers, he did.

Eyes blue like ocean met emerald green lakes and time was no longer a thing he cared about. Nor was oxygen.

The sound of drums faded away in an instant and, in their stead, his heart started a rhythm of its own, dancing and singing along with his blood an ancient call.

When she got lost in that tent, though, the voices and murmurs of the men beside him brought him back to present.

''We're the lucky ones, lads.'', the man from his right whispered and chuckled, an act that the other men copied the next second.

The prince frowned. ''Why?''

The dark-haired man cast him a weird look and then raised his eyebrow with a smirk. ''My, you're a clueless one, aren't you? We're lucky to fill the High Priestess's fertile womb with our seed. That child will be blessed from the Gods themselves.''

It took everything in his willpower to not grab that man by the neck and throw him on the ground. Killing him with his bare hands would be a regret he would gladly bear. Him and all the other men too, who even thought of laying there peasant hands on _Morgana_.

_She was his and his alone to worship and make heavy with his children._

In an instant, he blinked and the bonfires were the only red he could see again. He didn't know where that feeling of possessiveness had came from. He hadn't seen her from that fateful day and her form hadn't graced his dreams since.

_And she was the High Priestess._

The prince swallowed and dug his nails in his palms, hard enough to draw blood. He would have to kill her. And the only way to do so, would be to kill a deer with his bare hands, lay it on her feet and join her in that tent.

_And make love to her, as only a man can do to his woman._

He shook his head.

_No_ , he wouldn't. He would offer her a kind death, a merciful one. And then the war would be over. His father would love him again, he'd take him back and give him his throne with blind eyes.

_And he will die a hollow broken man, just like he deserves._

The drums got loud again and his body tensed.

A scream was heard and with that, all young male bodies ran towards the forest, searching for their prey to lay it on their Goddess's feet.

Arthur was never a man to believe in God. He stopped praying the night he bled his body from trying to wash away the blood of the souls he had taken.

But, he prayed that night, as the smoke filled the night sky and everything turned red.

_If you're out there, if you hear my pleads, kill me. Before I kill her._

**Author's Note:**

> It's not the end, don't worry! I'll be back with the second and final part in a few days, I promise! 
> 
> 'Till then, stay safe and mucha love! <3


End file.
